Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB0AJ98J2AKSSVDGYJ7EN9

Molly stirred her coffee with a bent straw, the diner’s neon “EATS” sign flickering to cast pink streaks across her grease-stained heist notebook. The chipped ceramic mug sweated into the paper placemat, blurring a scribbled sketch of a treehouse. Bill slid into the booth opposite her, slamming a crumpled party flyer onto the table; its glittery edges caught the dim light, advertising “Princess Penelope’s 7th Birthday Palace of Presents” at the suburban mansion on Oak Street. He plopped a half-eaten jelly donut next to the flyer, crumbs sticking to the glitter. Bill wiped a jelly smudge from his chin with his sleeve, the leather creaking as he moved. Molly raised an eyebrow, flipping her notebook to a page marked with a neon pink sticky note. A cartoon theme song blared from the jukebox, drowning out a nearby diner patron’s complaint for a moment. “Finally,” Molly said. “You took long enough to score that flyer. Did you have to stop for a donut mid-stakeout?” “Hey, a thief’s gotta fuel up,” Bill said, taking a messy bite. “Plus, the mom handing out flyers gave it to me—thought I was a lost kid’s dad. Classic cover.” “Lost kid’s dad? You’re wearing a leather jacket with a knife holster,” Molly said, nudging the holster with her foot. “She didn’t notice?” “Nope, she was too busy panicking about Penelope’s ‘throne’ chair being out of stock,” Bill said, snickering. “Said the presents are stacked to the ceiling—designer dolls, remote-controlled helicopters, even a tiny diamond tiara.” “Diamond tiara? That’s the real score,” Molly said, flipping to a new page in her notebook. “But how do we get in? The flyer says there’s a bounce house guard—some teen earning extra cash.” “Bounce house guard? Please,” Bill said. “I can distract him with a giant lollipop. Kids’ parties run on sugar bribes.” “Or I can pose as the face painter,” Molly said, tracing a face paint design in her notebook. “I can cover our escape routes while I’m painting the kids’ faces.” “Face painter? You can’t even draw a stick figure,” Bill said, snickering. “Hey, I practiced last night on my sock puppet,” Molly said, pulling a smudged sock from her bag. “See? Rainbow stripes.” “Terrible,” Bill said, but he was grinning. “But maybe it’ll work—kids don’t care about skill, just color.” “What about the gift table? It’s in the backyard, right?” Molly said. “Yep, behind the pinata,” Bill said. “I can cut the pinata string mid-party—chaos. Then we grab the presents and bolt through the treehouse slide.” “Treehouse slide? That’s genius—no one’ll suspect we’d use a kid’s exit,” Molly said, scribbling the slide into her sketch. “Told you I pay attention to the small stuff,” Bill said, finishing his donut. “Small stuff like the donut crumbs all over the flyer?” Molly said, brushing crumbs onto the floor. Molly’s pen stilled, her eyes widening as she rechecked the flyer’s fine print. A drop of coffee splashed onto her notebook, bleeding ink into the treehouse sketch. Bill grabbed a sugar packet from the table and tore it open, pouring the contents into his empty donut wrapper. He tossed the crumpled wrapper toward a nearby trash can, missing by a foot. Molly sighed, leaning down to pick it up, her notebook slipping slightly to reveal a list of past failed heists—including a botched candy store robbery foiled by a golden retriever. The neon sign flickered out for a second, leaving the booth in dim diner glow before popping back on, painting their grinning faces pink again.